


Golden Keys, Silver Moons

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, fairy tale, unhappy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes dart around, assessing, despite the clutter most of the pieces in the case weren’t that bad. She lingers on a pair of peacock earrings for a moment before spotting the small gold key on blue velvet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Keys, Silver Moons

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of Pydia week is going up early because I'll be a bit busy Monday and I don't know when I'll be able to get online.
> 
> So I started writing this before season 2 of Once Upon A Time aired, so it's a bit strange to have some of my theories actually be canon. As for timeline, this takes place before/ during season 1 episode 1 of OUaT.
> 
> The fairy tale and short story I used will be in the end notes, hopefully you'll figure it out before then. And don't cheat, I'll be watching you. . .

Regina turned and smiled as she heard footsteps. “Vincent! So good to see you.”

The older man in rich blues stopped a few steps away and returned with a smile of his own. “Regina. I have been away far too long, it is good to see you as well.” He offered her his arm.

She rested her hand on the crook of her elbow. “And how is your wife. . .Susan?”

He laughed. “Sarah, Regina, Sarah. I regret to inform you that she died about a month ago. A tragedy, I had high hopes for her.”

With her free hand she gave a pat on his shoulder. “Well maybe you shall find someone new to distract you.”

“Oh no,” he gave her a sidelong look. “I know that expression my dear. And I shall regret to inform you that Princess Snow will not do at all.”

Regina pursed her lips. “And why not?”

“In my eyes young Snow is much like sugar, she goes gloriously well with others, but on her own she is quite bland. No Regina I need someone more. . .more like your apples.” As they passed the tree in question he reached out and plucked one from the tree. “I want a wife who is just that right mix of sweet and tart, and has a nice sharpness to her.” He took a bite.

She shook her head. “Well I don't know how anyone could compare to my apples Vincent, but I wish you good luck. Though you will be staying won't you?”

He tossed aside his finished apple core. “Yes, a few days.”

It was his third day there when he saw her, fire-blonde hair streaming down her back as she laughs. The stutter of love in his heart was as familiar to him as his favorite horse. With sure steps he strode over to her and Snow and smiled. “Will you not introduce us your highness?”

Snow smiled back. “Of course. An, this is Lord Vincent Barbe, M'lord this is the Lady Oleander.”

He swept into a perfect bow, his hand easily scooping one of her gloved ones up. “My lady.” He brushed his lips against the back of her hand.

“My lord,” half her face was behind her fan but he could imagine the smile teasing at her lips.

Still keeping her hand in his he met her eyes. “May I have this dance?”

Her fan closed with a snap and he could finally see her smile. She passed the fan to Snow and stood up. “You may My Lord.”

As he led her to the floor the quartet struck up a lively reel. She gave a little breathless laugh as he began to whirl them around. He bit back a grin. “So does My Lady have a real name?”

She had the cheek to look offended. “What are you implying Lord Barbe?”

He gave her his most charming smile. “Only that I’m certain your parents didn’t name you Oleander. A name like that isn’t going to comfort any future suitors.”

This time the smile she gave him was a secret one. “It doesn’t seem to be deterring you. And if it weren’t my true name, well I’m sure I don’t know you well enough to give you what is.”

“I’ll try my best to win you over then.”

-

Barely a minute after Lydia passes another inane ‘Welcome to (insert town here)!’ sign her car gives an unhappy *clunkclunkhiss* and slows to a halt. She tries to start it again a few times, but to no avail. With an angry snarl she yanks her keys out and exits the car. She resigns herself to a long walk into town, and is suddenly grateful she wore pants today, as she makes sure her car is locked.

She finds herself pleasantly surprised when it only takes her ten minutes to get into town. After that it doesn’t take her long to find the auto garage. “Hello?”

The man behind the desk is almost stereotypically ‘mechanic’. “What can I do for ya’?”

“My car broke down right inside town. I’m hoping you can fix it.” She gives him her brightest smile.

He grabs a ring of keys and comes out from behind the desk. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The ride back to her car is quiet, but she doesn’t really mind. When they get there he quickly peers under the hood. “Looks like your wiring’s shot. Shouldn’t take that long to fix.”

A tenseness in her shoulders loosens. “Good. How soon?”

“Tomorrow,” he answers as he hooks her car to the truck.

“Any place in town I can stay?”

“Storybrooke Inn, it’s right behind Granny’s.”

Lydia resists the urge to roll her eyes. _Is this place really called Storybrooke?_

When they get back to the garage she pays him and heads the few blocks towards the inn.

-

“You’re going to say yes?”

Snow’s enthusiasm was contagious and Beatrix found herself smiling in return. “Yes.”

-

She stops by the inn to get a room and drop off her bag, before heading back out to see if there's anything interesting in this tiny town.

In the end she goes into the antique shop because there is literally nowhere else to go; the town’s library is _closed_ , who freaking closes a library?

The man behind the counter looks up as the bell above the door rings. “Can I help you?”

Her eyes dart around, _Jesus it’s like a pack-rat’s wetdream in here_ , and gives him her best polite smile. “No, just looking.”

There’s an amused twitch to his lips, like he knows something she doesn’t, “well let me know if you find anything interesting.” He goes back to fiddling with _something_.

Lydia decides to not be pessimistic and starts browsing.

Eventually she makes it to the jewelry case, habit has her tucking a non-existent skirt under as she squats down. Her eyes dart around, assessing, despite the clutter most of the pieces in the case weren’t that bad. She lingers on a pair of peacock earrings for a moment before spotting the small gold key on blue velvet.

-

They’ve been married a month and Victor couldn’t be happier. An, she still refuses to give up her name and it’s become something of a game to try and get her to tell him, was as witty as she was intelligent as she was beautiful.

But like always he has to leave. She frowned when he told her. “But when will you be back?”

“A few days,” he promised as he handed her the keys of the castle. “Here, so you can do whatever you like. Except,” he pulled a smaller key off the thin chain on his belt. “this one. It takes you to the cellar, don’t go in there.”

She raised an eyebrow as she took the gold key from him. “Then why are you giving it to me?”

He grinned. “Because I won’t need it where I’m going my little flower.”

An laughed as he rode off.

When he returned three days later she welcomed him home with open arms.

The cellar was untouched.

-

“Find something you like?”

Lydia gave a start and looked up to see the shopkeeper on the other side of the case. “The gold key in the back there?”

He pulls it out and she stands up. “May I?” A hand reaching towards it.

He nods and she picks it up.

She’s sure that something in the universe is laughing at her when she realizes that the head of the key is a crescent moon, apparently even though she’s left them werewolves will still follow her. She turns it over and gives a small frown when she sees a half a finger print in something that she thinks might be dried blood. “What’s this?”

“The previous owner was, ah, unwilling to tell me.”

For a moment she feels like she’s stepped into a Stephen King novel and that the town is really just a murder-fest waiting to happen. Still, even with the questionable fingerprint it’s nice. “How much?”

“Fifty dollars.”

A snort escapes her. “You expect me to pay that when you haven’t even tried to remove the unsightly blemish?” She’s _not_ going to call it a bloody fingerprint, for some reason she thinks that will mean he’s won. “Thirty.”

The smile he gives her in return is all teeth. “Trust me dearie, I’ve tried everything. That stain’s not coming off even when kingdom comes and the dead came back to life. Forty-five.”

She wants to burst out laughing, she really does. “I’ll pay forty, and only if you throw in a chain.”

The little sound of annoyance the shopkeeper makes tells her she's won, “will you want it wrapped?”

Lydia smiles, “no thank you. I'll wear it out.”

The key quickly warms against her skin as she heads out.

When she walks into Granny’s it’s doing a fair amount of business, which she takes as a good sign, but it also means that the only open space is at the bar, between a surly looking man and. . .her heart stutters. . . _Peter Hale_.

She tilts her chin up a little in resolution, he might be here but it’s pure coincidence and she is _not_ going to let fear be the boss of her anymore. So she marches up to the bar and takes the seat. She doesn’t look at him as she grabs a menu from the stand and starts perusing it. Unless he acknowledges her she won’t do the same to him. And if that doesn’t happen, well she can live with that.

Fate isn’t so kind. “Lydia?”

Lydia takes a deep breath; civil, she can do civil. She doesn't turn to face him but she does answer. “Peter.”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see his lips twitch, OK so the not facing him is a little petty, but she's got to have _some_ standards. “It's good to see you.”

She crooks an eyebrow and returns to perusing the menu. “Is it? I quite liked not having to deal with any weirdos this past year.”

He chuckles. “We missed you too Lydia.”

Before she can correct his _completely erroneous_ assumption the waitress comes to take her order, all the while sending flirtatious looks Peter's way. Part of Lydia wants to take the girl, because really she can't be much older than Lydia herself, aside and tell her about the monster Peter truly is, the other part is amused by the fact Peter seems oblivious.

The waitress leaves and Lydia doesn't even have the excuses of the menu to not look at him. With a little sigh of exasperation she turns to face him. Nothing much about him's changed in the year since they've seen each other, except that there's something new in his eye. Some hidden secret that only he knows, and she finds herself rankling under it. “So what brings you here to the middle of nowhere?”

Probably not the best thing to say in a restaurant full of people who live here, but she's feeling snippy and she won't excuse herself.

Peter laughs again. “Derek's sent me on a wild book hunt; no one else has my keen business sense.” Lydia gives a derisive snort, and Peter has the gall to look insulted. “Well you've grown quite bold.” He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “And what are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “My car broke down.” She sees the shift in him that means he's taken it on as a challenge to find out more, but she's not going to say anymore on the subject.

“That's quite a nice necklace, a much prettier key than the last one.”

Lydia bristles, but forces a polite smile onto her face. “Thank you.”

He smiles. “Even your hate smells good.”

Barely a moment later her food arrives and she gratefully dives in. When she finishes she gets up and goes to the register to pay, pointedly ignoring Peter's stare. She won't say she left the place with her tail between her legs, but her's was not the most courageous of exits.

Even though it's early still she changes into her Pjs and climbs into bed.

-

Beatrix frowned as she watched her husband ride off again. She knew it was for only three days, but still a woman _wondered_.

After he disappeared over the rise she attached the ring of keys to her own belt and tucked the little moon key into her jacket pocket.

On the third day she went down to the cellar door and stared at it, her hand rising to fiddle with the key in her pocket. She had it halfway to the door before she realized what she was doing. With a shake of her head she put the key back and when up to the solar to watch for Vincent's return.

-

She's screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. . . _blood and fire and so many dead_. . .then all goes mercifully black.

-

Lydia awakes to whiteness, and for a brief moment she wonders if she died. Then sounds start to filter in, among them the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. Some of the white bleeds out, leaving just a ceiling.

“Oh good, you're awake.”

Gingerly Lydia shifts to see the pixie-hair woman she'd seen at Granny’s yesterday. The woman smiles. “I'll go get the doctor.”

To steady herself Lydia counts the seconds until the woman returns with the doctor, then excuses herself. He smiles at her as he examines her chart. “I'm Doctor Whale Miss Martin. Have you ever had an episode like this before?”

She gives a small frown. “Episode?” And that dry raspy thing _cannot_ be her voice.

“Yes. Last night Granny heard you start to scream. She tried to wake you up but nothing seemed to work. Out of desperation she called the hospital and we managed to sedate you before you could destroy your vocal chords. Though I suggest you try not to talk too much in the next few days. So you're saying you've never had an attack like this?”

She shakes her head. They don't need to know about last year, and anyways _those weren't her fault_.

“Well do you have any idea what might have triggered this?”

Again she shakes her head. _Bodies, so many bodies. And in the middle of it all_ the monster.

“Well like I said, you should be fine. But we'll be keeping you overnight just in case.”

Lydia nods, _joy of joys_.

“If you need anything there's the call button, a nurse or Miss Blanchard will help you.”

Miss Blanchard must be pixie-woman. With nothing better to do Lydia's eyes follow Dr. Whale out.

She's alone again and part of her wants to hit the call button just so she can have someone chat at her, being alone right now _hurts_. Then Miss Blanchard appears at the end of the ward with her hands full of a huge bouquet and Lydia wonders if the other woman is psychic.

As she gets closer Lydia sees what the bouquet is of and she wants to laugh so much. Miss Blanchard sets the wolfsbane on the little side table. “These are from a Peter Hale, he said you two knew each other? There's a card too.”

Lydia takes the small envelope and opens it, the paper inside has two words: _get better_. She wonders if Peter's gotten sentimental since last year.

“Oh, and I brought you this.” Miss Blanchard produces a notepad and a pen. “That way you don't have to talk.”

Lydia accepts both with a gracious smile. She uncaps the pen. _Thank you_.

Miss Blanchard smiles, and for a moment Lydia expects birds to sing. “You’re welcome.” Her hand goes up to pick one of the blossoms from the bouquet, twirling the green stem between her fingers. “Do you know what these are? I’ve never seen a flower this color before.”

_It’s called Aconite, or Monkshood, or Wolfsbane. In the language of flowers they represent misanthropy._ She taps pen against paper for a moment, trying to figure out how best to explain. _They’re kind of an in-joke between us and our friends_. Mentioning the fact that they’re highly toxic is probably best for everyone; she’s surprised she didn’t kill anyone last year to be honest.

“Oh, like werewolves right?”

Lydia gives Miss Blanchard a stunned and confused look.

“You know like in all the werewolf movies ‘even a man who’s pure of heart/ and says his prayers by night/ may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms/ and the autumn moon is bright.’”

Something in Lydia relaxes. _Except wolfsbane blooms in the spring and early summer not autumn_.

Miss Blanchard gives a little laugh. “Well they’re allowed a little artistic license I think. It is a _werewolf_ movie after all.” She glances at her watch and gives a little start. “Oh. I’m sorry but I’ve got to go. If you’d like I can come back later though, maybe sneak you in some real food from Granny’s.”

Lydia doesn’t know why this, really a complete, stranger is being so nice to her. She blames Peter for making her so paranoid. So she just shrugs, _that’d be nice I guess_.

Miss Blanchard gives another bird-song smile and leaves. Lydia sets the notepad and pen on her bedside table next to the wolfsbane and closes her eyes. Sleep sounds wonderful right about now.

-

Two weeks after his return the strange fog comes. The two of them stare as it advances, but doesn't quite come to their castle. “What's going on?”

He pulls An closer, tucking her trembling body against his. “We'll be fine my little flower.” He has a good idea of what's happening and who caused it, and he thought she was being an idiot. There were much better ways to get revenge.

When the fog cleared the forest around them still remained, but there seemed to be a new darkness to it. Gently he led An back inside. He put all the keys into her hands and leaned down to give her a swift kiss. “I'm going to see if anyone else survived, I should be back in a day, two at the latest.”

She gave a small nod. “Stay safe.”

“Always.”

-

When she awakes from her nap, Peter's there. She doesn't acknowledge him, just rolls over. He sighs and she bites back the urge to roll right back over and slap him. “I'm not here to hurt you Lydia, I just came to see if you were alright.”

That gets a snort out of her. “Sentiment doesn't suit you Peter.” She feels completely justified in ignoring doctor's orders in this situation. Though she hates the _destroyed_ thing her voice has become.

He chuckles. “Sentiment is watching Scott moon over that Argent girl while Isaac moons over him and thinking it’s adorable Lydia. This is just me showing a little care of the woman who brought me back to life.”

She knows he brought up her old friends to try and get her interested in them, to maybe tell him why she left everyone without so much as a ‘by your leave’. She’s wise to his game though and won’t rise to the bait.

She doesn’t need to turn around to know he’s annoyed by her silence. “Do you remember what caused it?”

“No,” she whispers. Still not willing to admit this isn't the first time she's had this nightmare. Though the screaming is new.

Peter clicks his tongue. “Now, now Lydia. The blip of your heart tells me otherwise. What did you dream my dear?” He walked around the bed so they were facing each other again. “What Night Mare scooped you up and dragged you kicking and screaming into your id?”

His blue eyes bore into hers, into her soul; and there's that sick little part of her that _yearns_. “Yours.” She finally answers. “Fire and blood and bodies and silence and you.”

The start he gives is more satisfying than it should be. He reaches out for her hand and she yanks it away, staring him down. He gives a small sigh, warily her eyes watch him as he leans over her and plucks a small bunch of wolfsbane from her bouquet. She can't help the flinch that comes when he tucks it behind her ear. “Good night Lydia.”

His fingers brush against her for a moment before he's gone.

-

He's been gone seven days and it's starting to worry her. Beatrix was sure she'd cleaned the entire castle in desperation to have something else occupy her mind. All of the castle except, of course, the cellar with it's golden key.

Though as the days have passed she's found herself more and more drawn to it. Yesterday she'd even put the key into the lock. With nothing better to do she wanders down to the door after lunch. She wonder's what secrets are hidden behind it.

The key twisted effortlessly in the lock.

A tremulous squeak came from the door as it swung open.

-

Lydia's so happy when doctor Whale says she can go that she doesn't even care that everyone sees her throw away her wolfsbane. With a surprising bounce in her step she goes to Storybrooke Inn and grabs her things then flounces off to the mechanic's.

Half an hour later Storybrooke is well behind her and _good riddance_ is all she can think.

-

Beatrix bit back a scream as she ran down the hall towards the stairs and freedom.

Behind her Victor roars, and she puts on a burst of speed.

When she reaches the front door she scrambled at it for a moment before realizing it was locked. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, straightened, and turned around. She might die, but she'll do it with dignity and hopefully take him down with her.

Her eyes open to see him in front of her, half-man half-monster, and he looks. . . _disappointed_. “I had such high hopes.” He stalks closer. “You weren't supposed to be like the rest.”

_So many bodies, so much blood_. . .She wants to question why, but she already knows the answer. She knows it like she knows that Giovanni meant well all those years ago with his cure. It's what he is and she was only fooling herself to think he was _different_ from all the others.

His clawed hand gently brushed her cheek. “Oh my little flower. I truly did love you.”

Beatrix breathed deep again. Coaxing the tendrils of _other_ she's had in her for as long as she can remember. They fill her again in a rush, and for a moment she's back in her father's garden. _“Shall we not quaff it together, and thus be purified from evil? ”_

Vincent's other hand buries itself in her chest. _Wolfsbane_ , she thinks, _wolfsbane, wolfsbane_. His eyes show surprise, even though the rest of his face can't. He pulls away and she collapsed to the floor.

As the world around her starts going white, her husband starts vomiting. _Well at least your death will be slower than mine my love_.

-

_Three and a half months later. . ._

Lydia's in the middle of her history class when everything hits her like a ton of bricks. With a gasping sob she rushes from the room.

Outside the world is lush with spring and she lets herself _breath_ as she leans against a tree. She's nearly gotten a hold of herself when her cell goes off, scaring the shit out of her again.

She doesn't recognize the number but the 530 area code means it's probably someone from Beacon Hills. With a hint of dread in her heart she answers. “Hello?”

“Hello little flower. How are you?”

Lydia can't help but laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Peter: [bluebeard](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type0312.html)  
> Lydia: [Rappaccini's Daughter](http://www.shsu.edu/~eng_wpf/authors/Hawthorne/Rappaccini.htm)


End file.
